


Blunt

by Doxx



Series: Blunt [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Master/Slave, Submission, idiot hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3282710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doxx/pseuds/Doxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke is a warrior, and though strong as an ox, rather blunt when it comes to diplomacy and tact. So when he tries to get his lover Fenris to try out some master/slave roleplay in the bedroom, things do not exactly go as planned....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blunt

**Author's Note:**

> warning: m/m, master/slave roleplay. written for the kinkmeme, prompt at the end of the piece.

Hawke had a habit of approaching every problem as if he could beat it down with that massive sword of his. When words were called for, they tended to be tactless and blunt, the man preferring to get to the point rather than dance around the issue. Varric despaired, openly and often on Hawke's diplomatic skills and lack thereof. It was generally accepted that when a quite word and greased palm might yield better results than Hawke's unique brand of directness, it was best to approach the dwarf rather than the champion of Kirkwall. 

Hawke was truthful though, even when the truth was detrimental to his cause. He seemed surprised that the dockhand thugs that he was trying to persuade to let him rummage around the crates for stolen lyrium did not appreciate his comments on their personal hygiene, and when the men had reacted poorly to his statement, he'd drawn his sword and told them to open the crates. He got things done.... it had to be said, and as he strode away, happy with his success he did not see Varric desperately dip into his own coinpurse to 'compensate' the dockhands, lest the murderous look in their eyes translate to an actual attempt on Hawke's life.

After that, Varric had decided Hawke needed lessons in speaking to others, to save his own coin if nothing else. He asked Hawke to pretend Fenris was a qunari, and then urged Hawke to try and talk with him. It had taken hours, and Fenris had actually put his head in his hands at one point, declaring that Hawke would have just instigated all-out war between humans and qunari. At Fenris's behest, Varric had reluctantly given up on ever taming Hawke's tongue. 

So when he had asked Fenris his opinion about the possibility of a little master-slave roleplay in the bedroom, Hawke had tried his best to soften his choice of words. He had spent honest-to-maker minutes to refine his query, aiming to protect Fenris's feelings and respect his past. It was not enough however, to stop Fenris storming off, glowing fierce as he slammed Hawke's bedroom door.

He had growled, and promptly taken himself off to the hanged man to ask Varric what had gone wrong.

"Let me get this right.... You said 'and you'll be practised at that sort of thing'.. to the ex-slave...?!" Varric had mopped up his ale that he'd spilt in shock of Hawke's confession, and looked at Hawke as if he was surprised Hawke still had his heart within his chest.

Hawke had nodded, dark hair falling over his face and mouth drawn into a tight line of pain. The dwarf sighed, then moved to remove the bottle for Hawke's hands. Hawke's grip was strong, but Varric was quick enough to claim the prize before the man could react. He put it back by his bedside table and turned to Hawke, exasperated.

"Oh no, you don't get rum of all things after _that_. You are going to go home, and think about how you are going to apologise... No wait, sod that, I'm going to write you an apology, and you are going to read it word for word and hope that Broody is so besotted by your smouldering eyes he forgets what an absolute arse you can be."

Three hours and fourteen drafts later, and Hawke was given a piece of paper, full of inked statements of remorse and regret, and promises not to say anything so dense again. He was drilled in the proper tone to adopt, sincere and sad, and Varric reminded him, at length, that Fenris could not read, and that this might be problematic if Hawke just handed the paper over. Hawke, desperate to make amends, let the dwarf fuss and fluster over the words. He let Varric repeat himself, trying to get it through to Hawke's head that any mention of slavery in the bedroom was now banned. That under no circumstance, was Hawke to try and find Fenris, that Varric would seek out the elf and sent him to Hawke's estate, when the elf was good and ready. Any earlier, and Fenris would be unlikely to hear out the beautifully crafted apology.

Tired, unhappy but trusting in Varric's wisdom, Hawke took the piece of parchment and folded it neatly. With slow, heavy steps, he took himself home.

It wasn't fair. He was a warrior, and give him a sword and he'd quickly and efficiently cut down any foe, and face any threat. He could use steel, and put the weight of his body behind blade to rend and destroy flesh. He could take the weight of heavy armour, and suffer the blows and still be standing to retaliate. He could stand in way of the mages or the archers, and block any attacks aimed at them using his own body as a shield, and then he could charge forwards and take the heads off the offending enemy.

Suddenly, that was not enough anymore. They expected him to be able to talk. To plan and scheme, and anticipate the goals of people he'd never met before. It was like asking him to conjure a fireball, and while he might wave his hand and take on the fierce look of concentration and pain, but there could never be so much as a flicker, no matter how hard he might try. So why in Thedas did everyone assume he had any skills what-so-ever in speaking? You didn't need to talk to be able to warn off a group of opportunistic muggers with your stance and glare alone, and starting a conversation talking rarely helped in the heat of battle. The most he had ever said in the midst of clashing steel was a rather hopeful command to 'Die!!!', followed up with a sweep of his weapon.

He knew he was direct, and that was often to his own detriment, but Maker take them all, it was what he had been all his life. With massive sword in hand, it was hard to appear anything other than a fighter. There was no such thing as a well armoured envoy, and his physique lend itself too well to looming to put people at much ease for opening up to him with their problems. No, he was a warrior, and he was good at that. It was simple, there were two courses available, attack or surrender. To have offered surrender in the past would have seen Bethany dragged off by templar, so he had learnt to fight. With heart, and body, and sword, he would fight until the life left his corpse. He had been forced to fight for everything.... 

He'd tried to pass on the responsibility to those who were better versed at negotiating. He'd begged Varric to speak with the viscount in his stead, but the dwarf had no wish to play the part of the hero, and so Hawke had stood, awkward and aggressive at the desk and been asked his _opinion_ of all things. He had no idea of the conflict brewing, or how best to ease the tensions, so he had drawn on what he did know; 'the qunari bleed like any other.' he'd meant it as a reassuring statement, that if things with the qunari force camped in the docks were to go wrong, they would be able to deal with it. The viscount had taken it as a suggestion to forego talks and treaties, and finding out why they were there in the first place. The hostilities had increased, as a result. Perhaps, if someone had pay just a little more attention, found the book that the qunari sought, they could have avoided the bloodbath that had followed. 

Guilt was a new emotion to him, and unwelcome. As a warrior, you did not feel sorry for those who were trying to kill you, and when they failed and you survived, you did not regret your actions. All this... talking, questions without answers, answers no-one wanted to hear, it seemed like the surest way to loss your mind. Hawke longed for the days where he had worked as a mercenary; go there, kill this. It was hard work, and dangerous, but blissful in its own bloodied way.

Now he had to deal with Dalish artifacts, and mage manifestos. Darkroads and politics and blood magic and chantries, and his head spun to try and understand all that his sword could not cleave. He felt helpless in their wake, these strange concepts that seemed to dance over his head, out of reach and beyond his control, ready to drop down upon him at a moments notice. His friends came to him with their problems too, and while he had listened intently, his advice always seemed to be wrong. Everyone seemed to agree that taking a spirit of justice into yourself was a pretty awful idea, but when he had said as much to Anders, the collected diamondback players had been shocked at the statement. So he quietly gave up on ever being able to speak without causing someone offence.

He didn't want to, and dearly wished he had the understanding to prevent his words hurting those around him. He was honest, but despite what his mother had always told him, it seemed anything but the best policy. 

Lovers however, were supposed to be truthful to each other, and how could he deny the fact that to have Fenris, submissive and sublime, send a shiver of greed through him right to his core. Ever since Fenris had spoken of his time as a slave, Hawke had been fascinated. He had bit his tongue on such desires, but the more he thought of Fenris, lithe and strong and entirely at his command, the more he found himself wanting, no, needing, to see that side of him. 

To see Fenris, without his defensive gruffness, or habit of pushing Hawke's hands away when their lingered on his tattoos. To not have the elf grab him and hurry him to completion when he tried to slow things down, or take time in admiring his bedpartner. To _see_ Fenris, savour him. To finally feel like he had some control over the situation, and for once, things would go his way. That for just one night, he had some form of mastery over his life.

Now, through his fat tongue's folly, he'd be lucky if Fenris ever even spoke to him again, never mind letting him sink deep into that tight, perfectly taunt ass.

He let himself in, and crept up the stairs to him bedroom, bracing himself for a lonely night with only his hand for company. Opening the door, and stepping inside, he nearly didn't see Fenris save for the shock of white hair level with his hand still on the door handle.

Fenris was kneeling by his door, as if in wait, naked save for a thick black collar around his neck, a glint of metal from the hoop sitting central at his throat. Lyrium threads swept over tan skin, and his hands were clasped behind him. Fenris's head was bowed, but on seeing Hawke enter, a tightness rattled through his body, every muscle tense and ready.

"You're not supposed to be here." Hawke said, opening his mouth before his brain could fully catch up with the scene laid out in front of him. Fenris let the surprise of seeing him settle, and then looked up, bright eyes fixed on Hawke as he held his posture. Hawke licked his lips, then started to fumble in his pocket. He pulled out a piece of paper.

Fenris let his mask of submission slip, and gave a infuriated sigh. "Hawke..."

"Hold on... Right. Fenris, my act of ineptitude puts me to shame. I can only offer my most heartfelt admission of my error, and pray you can forgive my---"

"Hawke..." The 'h' was harder this time, Fenris's hidden hands clenching in frustration.

"Shut up, I'm trying to apologise.... Oh nug-bits, pretend I didn't just tell you to shut up."

"Hawke." there was a finality to his tone, and Hawke glanced up from his parchment, large hands crumpling it.. "Before I lose my nerve and my temper, put the damned paper away."

The champion blinked, slowly, and then tossed the paper behind him. Without taking his eyes from Fenris, he closed the door, then took a step forward, watching how Fenris had to crane his neck to keep eye contact. The sight of the elven warrior, so strong and sure in battle, on the floor like that made his heart jump, and a warm pleasant flush flood through his body.

He reached out to stroke against Fenris's cheek, the soft flesh still under his fingertips. He let out great exhalation, and stared, unable to even being to think of words he could say.

Fenris coughed, and then spoken in a different voice, softer, _smaller_. "I take it this slave pleases you...?" There was tension under the soft lilt, Fenris fighting to force the words out, but the sound sent a jolt straight to Hawke's cock regardless. He moved to place two fingers under the elf's chin, and tipped his head upwards, the line of his neck taunt at the angle.

"Are you.. OK with this...?"

Fenris gave a small nod as best he was able with his chin tilted so high, and Hawke marvelled at his lover. He removed his hand, and saw how Fenris held the pose, eyes cast forwards. He gave a low rumble of approval, and moved to circle the elf.

Hawke watched Fenris, observing the smoothness of tan skin over lean muscle. His footfalls were heavier than normal as he paced in a slow circuit around the elf, and he quietly noted the heady pleasure in the power Fenris had passed to him. It made him feel stronger, his every move deliberate and unquestionable. It was interesting to take on such a role, have it settle over him like a velvet mask, but he knew Fenris would be at odds with his part. As a test, he said nothing, simply walked and watched, waiting to see if Fenris would call a halt, to see that Fenris was willing to play by his rules for the night. As enticing as Fenris was, kneeling and naked, he would not proceed without the reassurance that Fenris was entirely consenting, even if right out of his comfort zone. 

The atmosphere in the room grew heavy, the silence permeating the air till it felt like every breath and heartbeat would be audible. Finally, after he had decided enough time had passed to give Fenris fair chance to bow out, he stopped and stood in front of him, himself still fully clothed. Fenris did not lift his eyes, merely stared forwards, at hips level. No doubt he'd be able to see the bulge forming under Hawke's trousers.

"Hmmmm. I am _very_ pleased..." He could see Fenris's chest shudder as he lost the pace of breathing at his words. Hawke let a slow smile creep across his face.

"Stand." he commanded.

As Fenris lifted one knee to his chest and gracefully drew himself upright, he did not move to unclasp his hands, holding them behind him. It was a practised movement, and Hawke could see that he had been right when he had guessed that this would not be something new to Fenris. He swallowed thickly, both excited and disturbed by the realisation. 

The elf did not flinch as he reached to stroke against the bone of his hip, and then firmly rub across the chest. Hawke breathed deep, so rarely permitted to touch Fenris as he pleased and enjoying the feel of soft skin under his fingertips.

"I could stand here and pet you all day.... You are so very beautiful. I don't often get a chance to admire you properly... "

When Fenris simply stood, and gave no reply, Hawke paused, contemplating. He ran a fingertip across one of the boarder lyrium brands, and tipped his head at the elf, watching for reaction. Fenris drew a quick breath, and he could felt a slight shift under the pad of his digit as the elf fought to stop his body squirming from the contact. He dipped his eyes downwards to see what he has always suspected, that flesh between his legs, already starting to stiffen, pulsed at the contact with the mark.

"You don't want to admit it, but you _like_ it when I touch your tattoos...."

Fenris froze for a second, like he might pull away. Instead, he bowed his head slightly, "Yes mast----" He faltered, and his throat bobbed repeatedly, as if he might choke on the word 'master'. 

Hawke stepped forwards, closing the space between them, and curled a hand around the elf's face, palm against the jaw, fingers brushing over cheek and thumb resting at the corner of his mouth.

"You will call me M'lord." he said after rummaging through his head for another, less poisonous honorific, and he could feel Fenris's throat relax in response.

"Yes m'lord." It was like a long exhale, some of the unease slipping away, to finally answer the question. An admission, that normally Fenris would not have considered voicing. There was something to be said then, for pushing past his inner defences and Hawke took a quiet pride in the confession. He gave Fenris a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder, and thumbed the lyrium lines upon his chin. Fenris's eyes softened, hazing in and out of focus. They fluttered shut, as Hawke applied the slightest scrape of fingernail to them, and Hawke gave a low chuckle.

"Oh... I think I have found something better than just petting... "

He ran a clawed hand up the exposed back, slow enough that Fenris arched his spine in gradual increments as fingernails dug against skin, and lyrium, and nerves. He repeated the movement, applying more pressure, watching as the curve of Fenris's back became more extreme. He lowered his hand again, and Fenris tensed, anticipating the bite of nails. This time, however, instead of fingernails Hawke used the wide flat of his hand, smoothing over the flesh, and feeling Fenris's ragged breath as the sensation he was expecting never came. 

He did not exactly stumble, but Hawke saw the muscles of his lyrium'd legs tightened and his toes curl as he tried to force his body to remain still under Hawke's assault. Fenris so rarely showed any signs of weakness, it was novel to be able to see him fighting to keep from writhing, from letting his knees collapse. No wonder then, that the elf protested touch to such an extent, when it could leave him so helpless after only a few well placed caresses. Hawke thought he could understand his lover better now, and that Fenris had willing allowed him free reign to see just what his hands could reduce him to, it brought a warm feeling that had nothing to do with his blood pounding in his ears and cock across him. 

With a grin Hawke set about trying to break past Fenris's resolve, taking full advantage of the freedom Fenris had handed him. He pressed his lips to the skin of Fenris's neck, kissing, then dragging teeth, until Fenris's breath hitched. He sucked a mouthful of flesh and held it, running his tongue over and tasting the tang of sweat and delicious heat of the elf. 

Steadying Fenris with a firm hand against the small of his back, the other on his hip, he pressed deep into the neck, able to feel every breath, feel the beat of blood under his lips, his tongue, his teeth. Fenris squirmed, then tried to straighten and stay still, only to lose himself again briefly as Hawke laid a particularly heavy kiss onto the bruise forming in the hollow of his collarbone. 

"Hmmm, I love how good you taste. I could lick you all over, reduce you to a shivering mess with just my tongue.... And you'd let me, wouldn't you...?"

"Yes m'lord." Fenris evidently found it hard to speak, with Hawke's mouth closed in over his throat, pressing down on the collar, pulling at the thick leather, sucking and nibbling. Hawke chuckled, and trailed his tongue up the line of lyrium to Fenris's mouth, and pressed in for a kiss. He held Fenris tight, so that the elf couldn't wriggle away, and lavished a series of slow laps past Fenris's passive lips. It was a heady rush, to be able to kiss Fenris without the elf trying to hurry the pace along. He was used to being interrupted by a restless growl, or, when that didn't work, Fenris cupping his hand against Hawke's manhood meaningfully, making it rather difficult to take time over the act of exploring his mouth, sharing breath, _kissing_.

He trapped Fenris's lip in between his own, and squeezed, then licking at the sensitised opening. Fenris made a soft sound, and Hawke hungrily devoured it, hand moving from hip in a slow stroke up to curl around the back of Fenris's neck, holding him by the collar so the elf had to let Hawke delve as deep as he liked with his tongue. He noted that although Fenris was trying to keep as still as possible, the wet heat of his own tongue did move and reach to touch his own, sliding against each other as Hawke drank in taste of Fenris's submission.

A sudden pinch to the soft skin of his rear made the elf gasp. Hawke moved to grasp the other cheek between thumb and forefinger, but paused as his hand skimmed across the crease of Fenris's ass.

He pulled his fingers back, and observed the slight sheen that clung to them. He rubbed the pad of his thumb against them, and felt the frictionless glide of oil.

"What is this...?" he asked softly.

Fenris did not look at him, and he saw the elf struggle to swallow, as if he had a stone in his mouth. "I..." He gave a tiny cough to clear his throat, "I have prepared myself for you m'lord."

Hawke swayed on his feet, then, before the giddiness that suddenly filled his head caused him to fall, sat down upon the bed heavily. He had not expected Fenris to have gone to such lengths, for the experience to be so _intense_. The part of him that made him a poor mercenary and a great champion, that questioned orders and tried to do the right thing, pulled at his mind. This was dangerous, Fenris was in too deep, ran the risk of drowning in his past if Hawke was not careful. As if to prove the point, Fenris was slow in turning to look, and even as he did so, it was timid, as if he anticipated anger or punishment for such self-direction.

Hawke felt his chest tighten, suddenly unsure. "Fenris.... Fenris I think we should stop."

He knew there was a weakness to his voice, betraying that fact that his body definitely did not think that they should stop. His cock, certainly, was adamant that he should push the elf against the nearest wall, grab his hips and sink into that delicious oiled tightness _right now_. It was hard to be convincing when his trousers were quite so tight across his groin, and his breath came in thick pants.

Fanris's eyes looked into his own, and he found himself relieved that Fenris was finally meeting his eyes, instead of them staring ahead like a tranquils'. He blinked, and it was as if the mantle of the slave-role slipped from him. He held himself straighter, and let his hands fall to his sides. He pursed his lips, and turned so that he was facing Hawke where he sat upon the bed.

"I thought this is what you wanted..?" he said, softly, just a hint of accusation in his voice. Or perhaps it was disappointment, it was hard for Hawke to tell, his own lust and guilt making it hard for him to think clearly.

"It is..." Hawke answered, voice almost a whine as he struggled to make sense of the battery of emotions crowding his head. "but I don't think its what _you_ want..."

Fenris laughed then, and gave a sweeping gesture with both his palms to indicated his hardness, jutting out from his body. Hawke stared, then tried to convince his tongue that it was not a lump of lead sitting in his mouth.

"I uh.. That's very nice...." Fenris gave an amused snort at Hawke’s stumbling words, "But.. This is too much. I don't want to hurt you... Don't want to..." Hawke trailed off, but the words unsaid hung in the air, _don't want to **break** you. _

Fenris gave a soft sigh, and crossed his arms in front of him. The toes of one foot lifted and fell, tapping as he watched Hawke sitting miserably on the bed. With a single shake of his head, he took a step forwards.

"Hawke. I have lived as a slave, and have seen first-hand the multitude of ways a master can hurt his property. And yet, I still came and waited for you. Naked, collared, _prepared_. Not just because you wanted it, not even because I wanted it too, but because I trust you." He unfolded his arms, and moved them behind him, forcing his chest forwards as he clasped them together at the wrists, sitting in the small of his back. He gave Hawke a quick flash of a smile, before he sank to his knees, and looked up at Hawke, submission filling his eyes again.

"This slave wishes to please you." The voice was sincere, almost a plead. Hawke's reservations vanished as he reached forwards to cup Fanris's head in his hands and place a kiss upon the forehead, catching strands of white on his lips as he did.

"Right...." Hawke breathed, then gave himself a nod, dragging his voice to a more confident cadence, " _Right._ New rules though, you may.. No, you will look at me. I want to see you see me looking at you, wanting you. And you may move as you like. Pretty as you are, I'd rather you didn't resemble a statue or a piece of meat. Are we clear?"

"Yes m'lord." Fenris seemed more at ease that he did not have to hold pose, and Hawke carefully watched his eyes for signs of distress. His eyes were more focused, less glossy and Hawke liked the way they tracked his face, searching for his approval. He granted a slow smile.

"Good. Now, help me out of my armour."

He remained sitting and held out an arm at a time, letting Fenris stand and undo the buckles and knots and odd pieces of wire he used to keep his armour secure over his large frame. It made the armour-smiths cringe to see Hawke's 'adjustments', but Hawke found it hard to give too much notice after losing a bracer, followed by nearly losing his arm during a particularly unpleasant battle with a shade, who had oozed through the gap in the armour and burnt away the straps. Ever since, he made sure that his armour was as abomination (and qunari, and golem, and dragon) proof as possible, by re-enforcing every buckle and tie with whatever he could get his hands on.

The downside was that getting in and out of his armour was a long affair, that he had grown to loathe. Seeing Fenris however, working nimble fingers past the plates and unlacing the fastenings, redeemed the armour somewhat, and he made a note to ask Fenris for his help more often, if only so he could see Fenris grace him with such a look on concentration.

His arms free, Fenris moved to the chest pieces, pausing for Hawke to give a nod to go ahead. The elf did not say a word, but was strangely serene as he helped Hawke shed his outer skin of metal and leather. The shirt beneath was silk, one of the few admission Hawke made to the noble way of life, but in typical Hawke style was made practical, the fancy embroidery cut from it and worn under the armour with no thought for the staining it sustained from exposure to dark-dyed leathers. The result was a grubby garment that would have made the original tailor weep.

Fenris did not lift the silk shirt off, and Hawke realised he had only given instruction to help him with the armour. He rose, Fenris backing away to give him room to get up from the bed, and then looked to the elf expectantly. Fenris hurried back, and started to tug and pull at the tangled mess that was the ties holding Hawke's greaves tight against his legs, so that they did not shift and rub. He knelt, for ease of seeing what he was trying to unknot, and Hawke saw that between his limber legs, his erection had not lessened in the slightest.

As the last piece of armour was removed, and then set gently aside in a tidy fashion that would likely be kicked over before morning arrived, Hawke placed a hand on Fenris's shoulder, stopping him from getting up from the kneeling position.

"Undo the lacing of my trousers."

Fenris did as he was bid, fingers light and damn-near dancing across the straining hardness held behind the tight leather. Hawke gave a low rumble of approval, and hooked his fingers against the waistline of the breeches and pushed them down, dragging his smalls with them. Fenris's face was close enough he could feel the elf's breath on his manhood, and it delighted him to see Fenris look up, and lick his lips.

"May I....?" he faltered again, but his eyes betrayed the raw need and lust where his voice failed. Hawke though, wanted to hear the words, and stared down as he stepped from the leather gathered round his shins.

"What? Say it."

"May I please suck your cock m'lord?"

Hawke felt shivery and flushed, all at once, and his mouth ran dry as he tried to think what a suitably dominating reply would be, rather than utter the 'oh yes please' that had first sprang into his head. He paused, his blood pulsing hot and hard up the length of his shaft, when he finally managed to growl out "Do it."

It was only as the perfect circle of Fenris's mouth slid over him, that Hawke realised he was still standing. He shifted his heels out, and locked his knees, going against every piece of battle training to make sure he did not collapse onto the elf servicing him. It would hardly do to reward such a firm and diligent mouth with the full weight of a warrior crushing down.

Fenris worked the skin of his shaft with the flat of his tongue inside his mouth, and every breath seemed just enough so that he could keep the suction enveloping the head. There was a little noise of discomfort as he swallowed a little further down Hawke's length, and his eyelids drooped closed as he struggled to open his throat to accommodate the thick and heavy flesh filling him.

Hawke reached down and gave the collar around his neck a tug, sharp enough to jolt Fenris from his rhythm and have to pull back to claim air. Hawke allowed this, but tugged at the collar again to urge Fenris to meet his eyes.

"Look at me." he said, and was surprised at the low growl that hung from his voice. Fenris gave a little nod, Hawke's fingers still between leather and his neck, and swivelled his eyes upwards, before plunging wet heat down upon Hawke's cock once again. He could feel the hint of teeth behind pulled back lips, the pressure and seal perfect around his girth, and the tongue working to both tease the flesh, and struggle against swallowing. He knew his knees and restraint would not last long under such attentions, but managed to hold himself from calling a halt to the tug of suction, and intense heat till he could feel that his release was imminent. 

He could have been more gentle, at once forcing his hips back and his fingers on the collar tightening and pushing Fenris's head away, just in time before he lost all control, and he almost was not able to catch the thin reedy noise of his body protesting the loss from escaping his lips. Heavy breathing, both his and Fenris's, masked the sound, and he was able to stagger to the bed, falling down upon it before his legs gave out.

Fenris stayed where he was, kneeling, but watching Hawke, working his jaw quietly to ease the feeling of being forced open for too long. Hawke, still in his silk shirt, shifted himself so that his head rested upon the pillows, on his back. He cast his eyes over Fenris, and then extended a hand and with a single crooked finger, beckoned him over.

Fenris _crawled_ , and Hawke had not before thought about how the sight of strong muscles and bare skin, slinking over the floor could be anything but derogatory. Now though, he wished his bed was further away, just so he could watch the careful movements, knee to floor then hand to floor, hips rocking and shoulders rolling, for just a moment more. Fenris was graceful, but his eyes were fierce and strong, watching Hawke and drinking in the effect his actions were having. 

"Maker's knuckles but you look good.... " Hawke breathed finally, as Fenris came to rest and knelt by the bed, leaving just enough room that he would be able to rise without knocking his kneecaps against the bedframe. While his mouth remained expressionless, Hawke caught the flicker of both mirth and pride at his words, and for once, was pleased that he had not managed to cause offence by speaking his mind. This, this was what he had wanted, to be able to tell Fenris how marvellously sexy the elf was, without Fenris able to tell him he was being sentimental, or ridiculous, and move the conversation onwards as fast as he was able. The master-slave element might have been a bit of an extreme measure, but he'd been tickled by the idea of Fenris _having_ to listen, having to hear him out and not being able to cut down his compliments. That to see Fenris in a collar made his heart pump hard was also a rather pleasing revelation.

He extended a hand and smoothed Fenris's white hair, his fingers lingering on the soft strands. He repeated the gesture, turning onto his side on the bed and stroked from the crown down the back of his head till his fingertips brushed against the collar hanging around his neck.

"Your hair is soft, and though you don't like to be seen to make a fuss over your appearance, you must wash it regularly to keep it so very white." he said softly, petting Fenris like an animal but looking at him with absolute adoration. He could see that Fenris wanted to squirm under the statement, his eyes briefly darting downwards before he remembered he was to keep eye contact. Mouth tightened to a thin line, and Hawke wanted very much to see the day when he could give Fenris praise and the elf not fight against it.

"I wonder though at the length. You're not one to hide behind anything in battle, and you do not try to hide your ears like some other elves. I think you try to hide your eyes behind your hair, your eyes and your handsome face. It's a pity." Hawke brought his hand to Fenris's forehead, and swept the hair back and smiled. "Very nice." he murmured, and brought his other hand out to caress against the high ridge of cheekbone.

Even though he was hardly applying any pressure, Fenris's resolve broke, and he turned his head sharply from the touch. Surprised, and a little disappointed that Fenris would not tolerate a more gentle form of tactile admiration, Hawke leaned forwards. With hesitation, he grasped the back of Fenris's head, pale hair clutched in his fist, but trying hard not to pull more than necessary to get Fenris to keep his head still.

"The good thing about the length however, is that it is so easy to keep a hold of..." He said, voice hardening, searching Fenris's face for signs that he had gone too far. If anything, Fenris seemed relieved that the pressure of keeping his own head still had been taken from him, and when Hawke's hand came to brush against his cheek a second time, he did not so much as blink in protest.

"Oh..." Hawke was honestly taken aback by the reaction, and tightened his grip on the handful of hair experimentally. When Fenris did not only permit this, but tilt his head to accommodate the tug of his hair, and the pupils of his eyes grew larger, Hawke was again struck by the sense that this was not just his fantasy... That Fenris for all his contentions about slavery, was also enjoying himself immensely. 

Using Fenris's hair as leverage, he gave an upwards pull, watching how Fenris moved with his fist to his feet. He could not reach high, lying on the bed, so the elf had to bend at an awkward angle as Hawke manoeuvred him to join him on the bed.

"Let us see just how 'prepared' you are.... " Hawke knew there was the hint of a malicious smile on his face, but did not feel the need to correct it or apologise for it. Such was the freedom of being in control, and knowing that Fenris was strong enough to tell him if he should push too far. He tightened his fist slightly, and commanded; "Down."

Fenris had to take a little time to rearrange his legs to grant him room to move, but backed up till Hawke could feel oil brush against his cock. He'd released the hair, but had let a single finger hook into the silver metal ring of the collar, and hang there, feeling Fenris swallow as he started to push against the hard flesh of his erection. That rippled ring of muscle, so tight, felt like fire against the head of his member, and Hawke dragged a breath into his lungs as Fenris willed his body to accept the intrusion. Oiled as he may have been, he entrance had long since closed up, and Fenris fought to bring his rear downwards, the tightness stealing Hawke's breath as slowly, wondrously slowly, he filled the elf straddling his lap.

Fenris's insides felt like heated silk, and as the Fenris finally managed to plant himself down against Hawke, he felt like he might burst there and then, to the black city with his warrior's stamina. Hawke desperately thought of ice spells and the high cleric Elthina naked in effort to calm himself, and after a few moments, the glorious clench of Fenris around him seemed more manageable. He'd have liked to stay like that, Fenris upon him, watching how the elf had to shift to receive his length buried deep within. He would have given almost anything to hold onto the moment, perfect in its intimacy.

It was Fenris's eyes however, usually clenched shut or focused at some distant point above their heads, that undid him. He could see the effort it took him to sink down, and the need to have _more_. Nothing was hidden, nothing secret as he saw Fenris's face grow wide and needy. He reached a hand up, and cupped Fenris's face, feeling the sweat dampening the skin.

"You set the pace. I want to see you fucking yourself on me."

There was an uncomfortable instant when Hawke feared he'd finally found a line to cross, but when Fenris gathered himself onto the balls on his feet, and placed both hands upon Hawke's hips, all thought and trepidation was lost in a blaze of flesh sliding into flesh.

Fenris set a hard pace, and through the fog of sensation Hawke tried to remember that he need not be so gentle with the elf in future, that his preference seemed to be for a more rapid and forceful experience. Hot, as the elf plunged downwards, hot and tight and the bed creaked with the weight of the elf slamming himself against Hawke. Hawke found himself unwittingly holding onto the collar like a lifeline, causing Fenris to bow his head as his thighs worked up and down. He could see Fenris's face, brows furrowed but mouth hanging open in a soundless cry, and eyes growing increasingly unfocused.

He set his shoulders against the mattress, and as Fenris slide himself down, he jerked hips _up_. It was worth it for the half grunt, half whimper alone, and he saw Fenris pause, caught out by the deep sensation. He made a small noise to the back of his throat, and Hawke realised his bedpartner was nearing his limit, but was trying to hold back for his sake.

He missed at first, as he tried to close a hand round the elf's erection bobbing before him. When his hand finally touched upon the hardness, he barely managed to touch fingers and thumb together when he felt blood pulse and saw a sudden flush of colour as Fenris spilt himself across Hawke's belly and chest. His body convulsed, and though Hawke would not have thought it possible for the elf to get much tighter, the squeeze of muscle against himself was enough to send him over the edge. 

The finger fell from the collar, and all the raw energy filled the air seemed to dissipate as he found release, leaving him in a contented daze as he slumped into the warm and ready mattress.

He was vaguely aware of Fenris detaching himself and using the bedsheet to wipe himself as clean as he could. He removed the collar, before settling down beside Hawke, settling against his chest, an arm between them like a shield.

"You would have made an excellent sex slave... " Hawke said, then his body stiffened in horror at the words he'd let slip. "Ah! Forget that... Please forget I just said that."

Fenris, his skin and hair still sweat soaked, propped himself up on his forearms and gave Hawke a slow shake of the head, hair hanging heavy over his forehead. "I'll take it as a compliment."

Hawke's chest heaved in relief, and Fenris shuffled to lay his head upon the expanse of dark hair and solid muscle.

"Before you start to apologise, because I know you will, I enjoyed that. More than just enjoyed, I liked that you took charge. I would very much be willing to repeat this eve's .. activities." Fenris's voice had lost its harsh edge, and his eyes, thought still bright and clear, seemed much less critical than normal. Before Hawke could open his mouth to reply, Fenris cut in, his tone regaining a hint of his usual sharpness; "That is not to say that you are not an idiot." 

"I... uh... I'm sorry?"

Fenris laughed, a low brief noise, but it served well to clear the air and Hawke's sudden guilt and embarrassment. "I already said you need not apologise. Has the dwarf drummed his dire warnings into you so deep you cannot speak without automatically stating you are sorry as a defensive mechanism?"

Hawke said nothing, his blood ebbing from thundering quite so loudly through his veins, his head clearing somewhat.

"I know you Hawke. I had gathered that you had.. Dominant leanings. I know that you are truthful to a fault, and I have learnt to accept that." 

"But you should not have to 'accept' that I can be a dundering fool...." Hawke offered weakly.

"You and I, we are both warriors, trained in swordplay and battle. I understand the difficulty you have. As a slave, I was taught, at length, to keep my mouth shut, after all, all anyone wants to hear from a slave is 'yes master'. But yourself, people ask you questions, encourage you for your thoughts. I have been at your side long enough to know it is an enormous thing they ask of you. I do not think _I_ could manage half as well were our roles reversed, and I am very glad they are not."

Hawke's head, still pleasantly humming, automatically fixated on the idea of role reversal, and he had to shove it aside in order to hear Fenris out, the elf not usually so open.

"It was my own attraction to the idea of playing a slave that send me off in such a strop, and I apologise for that." 

"What changed your mind?"

"You. I trust you, fully, completely, and cannot think to deny you any happiness.... No matter how bluntly you might request it."

Hawke moved and let an arm fall across Fenris's shoulders, and for once, the elf did not shrug it off. He gave a half grin, which then turned serious as he contemplated the repercussions of the evening.

"Does it not bother you? I don't want to make you relive your past, not just to make me happy."

Fenris's nostrils flared, and he gave Hawke a long stare before speaking. "There is a certain joy to be found in submitting to another's will, when it is someone you trust.... To just take command and follow, it is a much simpler way of being, and not entirely without merit. I would not normally allow someone else such power over me, but with you.... I do not mind."

The guilt nagging at his mind lifted, as he could see it from Fenris's point of view. Freedom would be a daunting prospect, and the desire to find something more definite than all the shades of grey the world was coated in was something he could relate to. 

Hawke gave a nervous smile, and held Fenris close. "Hmmm, I can well understand the appeal of just doing what you are told to.... How do you feel about switching roles, for next time?"

Fenris's look took a while to settle from the surprised arch of both eyebrows, but when it did, there was a definite gleam of promise shining in his bright green eyes.

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> the prompt:  
> checked all the other requests, and I didn't see this there, but still, if this is a repeat then feel free to ignore. Also, a part of me feels like I'm going to hell for wanting this as much as I do.
> 
> Usually, Hawke is the dominant partner and tops, but it's no longer enough. Knowing that Fenris used to be a slave turns him on, and just once he wants Fenris to be that level of submissive to him. However, he knows how sensitive Fenris is about his past, so he does the polite thing and asks first if the elf would be willing.
> 
> He is not. By any stretch of the imagination (writer!anon can make Fenris as pissed off about the suggestion as they like).
> 
> The subject is completely dropped until one day Hawke comes home and finds Fenris kneeling on his bedroom floor, waiting for him (clothes and/or collar optional). Roleplay sex ensues.


End file.
